Fried Chicken Christmas
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: A Weevil hunt gone wrong forces Jack and Ianto to spend Christmas Day together. Somehow, with only fried chicken, cheap red wine and their memories to keep them occupied, it turns out to be the best Christmas they could possibly have.


**Title:** Fried Chicken Christmas  
**Characters:** Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones (mentions of Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Rhiannon Davies)  
**Pairings:** Jack/Ianto (mentions of Gwen/Rhys)  
**Rating:** Teen: innuendo and language.  
**Spoilers:** General spoilers for Series 1-2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Torchwood or any of the affiliated characters. Although, if the actual owner's aren't going to treat them well then I'm thinking of applying for custody. I also do not own _The Muppets_, _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_, or _Fairytale of New York_: they and all affiliated characters belong to their respective creators.

**Summary:** A Weevil hunt gone wrong forces Jack and Ianto to spend Christmas Day together. Somehow, with only fried chicken, cheap red wine and their memories to keep them occupied, it turns out to be the best Christmas they could possibly have.

**A/N:** I would urge everyone to go and search for the original video for _Fairytale of New York_, by The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl, on YouTube. The final scene of this fiction is based around the music, and the dance at the end of the video was something I was trying to, in a sense, recreate. Also, a big shout out to my mother for lending her fear of the Child Catcher from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang _to Ianto for this fiction.

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x

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**Fried Chicken Christmas**

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**

He'd turned the heating down as low as he could, in the hope of imbuing a sense of Christmas spirit into the dank, metallic recesses of the Hub.

But, as he wrapped his coat around himself and shivered when the icy air caught at his skin, he couldn't help but feel a sense that it was all a bit artificial. It was less a white Christmas than a forced Christmas chill hanging in the air, hardly reminiscent of the season of joy and good will. In fact, the only sign of the actual weather were the images of the shimmering, frozen Bay, which he had brought up on the screen of every available computer.

Jack leant back in his chair and flicked the nib of his pen against the desk, listening to the hollow _tap_ that reverberated around the interior of the Hub. Usually, the sound would bounce back at him, intermingled with the voices of his colleagues or the thrumming of various mechanical devices. But today it just faded away into the hollow emptiness, swallowed in the annoyingly serene hum of the Rift Manipulator.

He let out a sigh and threw his head back, casting a glance upwards at the ceiling. There was a large part of him which regretted giving Gwen and Ianto the day off; the part of him that yearned for some company, for someone to talk to, was kicking himself in the head for being so foolish. But the other part of him – the part which he knew to have a considerably higher moral standing than the other part – knew that he'd done the right thing.

His two colleagues spent barely anytime away from Torchwood as it was, especially since the deaths of Tosh and Owen. He couldn't remember the last time Ianto had picked up the phone to answer his sister, or even spent a full twelve hours at his flat. He couldn't remember the last time that Gwen had actually managed to make it home in time for her to enjoy a meal with Rhys that wasn't reheated.

This was his reward for all their hard work, throughout the dismally difficult few months that they had been forced to endure. Just a little bit of time. Because that was all he could honestly give them.

A smile cracked Jack's features in two as something in the Hub started flashing, the high pitched squeal of the Rift Alert splitting the oppressively quiet air apart. He was on his feet in an instant, springing forward to the nearest computer to gather information and location - with an exuberance that would not normally befit someone who had just been summoned to work. But, whatever it was, Jack reasoned, it had to be better than sitting around on Christmas Day and moping in the cold air of the Victorian base.

By the time he reached the scene, after several near-death experiences on the snow covered roads along the way, his Webley was twitching against his thigh like an animal ready to spring. He could feel the comforting weight against him, spreading warmth through his clothes and into his skin as he clambered out of the SUV, slamming the door shut behind him with as much authority as he could muster.

His fingers wrapped knowingly around the bulk of the gun, the weight perfectly balanced in his hand as he shuffled through the cold snow on the pavement. The screen had pointed him towards Cathays, which was drenched in several inches of hard snow; severely hampering Jack's manoeuvrability and agility. He took another step and the spray, which was nestled snugly in the pocket of his coat, clanged against his leg.

There was stillness ahead of him, a stillness which was so _totally _still that it couldn't possibly be real. Jack pondered on this as he kicked at a large ball of white that was blocking his path. It was a quietness that was only to be found when you knew something was waiting for you; that moment of serenity that lulled you into a false sense of security right before…

…a growl pierced the air as the Weevil barrelled into Jack's side, forcing his feet to skid on the ice and sending him crashing to the ground. He heard something snap in his right leg, a split second before searing pain shot up through the limb, sending white spots exploding into Jack's line of vision. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, clenching every single muscle as he scrambled in the wet snow for his dropped weapon.

There was another snarl before the Weevil appeared at his side; hot breath lingered on Jack's face as it opened its mouth and leapt forward, sensing Jack's weakness and sinking its teeth into the already injured leg. Jack let out a cry as the flesh was ripped and the cracked bone was pulled even further out of line, his hand scrabbling wildly through the snow, through the pain, until his fingers rested on a hard, familiar shape.

The Weevil released his tattered leg and turned, eyes focused intently on Jack's neck as it inched forward – smugness glinted in its eyes, a sense of victory demonstrated in the way it held itself, as it made its way, leisurely, towards its inevitable killing blow.

"You think so?" Jack muttered, a pained grin stretching his face as he levelled his gun at the Weevil's forehead.

And then he fired.

The Weevil fell backwards, red blood painting the snow crimson as it landed heavily next to Jack. He let out a quick breath and scrambled away, holding his gun firmly at the back of the fallen creature's head, just in case it made any sudden movements. It remained still, face buried in the snow and limbs twitching minutely with the last remnants of life.

"You see?" Jack flicked the barrel of the gun against it, twisting the neck to look into the dead eyes. "This is one Christmas turkey you don't get."

He tried to stand, managing only to slip the Webley back into its holster before he fell to the ground, a cry ripping its way from between his lips. His leg twisted out awkwardly beneath him, a tattered mess of flesh and bone which was hanging on to his torso precariously, attached by only a few sinewy strings. Jack grimaced as he reached out his hand to inspect the damage, another cry forced from his throat as he moved the ripped flesh and a wave of pain shot up his spine.

"Damn."

He lay back in the snow, his head pillowed only slightly by the cold mush beneath him. Only now, as the adrenaline ebbed away from his system, could he feel the cold begin to creep into his veins. His teeth chattered and his extremities ached as a few more flakes began to fall from the sky.

He knew, from experience, that hypothermia was a death that he did not want to experience again. It was long and slow and painful; something he wanted to avoid at all costs. But, at the same time, there was no way he could move unless his leg healed. He was already weakened by the cold, and an injury like this would take its time even in the best of circumstances. Of course, it would heal nicely if only someone would come along and shoot him – but, to be honest, the one thing he didn't want to do on Christmas was die.

A grimace etched onto Jack's features whilst he scrolled down through the options in his mind, a sigh leaving his lips as he realised that each time he was coming back with the same answer. It wasn't something he really wanted to do. But he'd reached a point of not really being able to do a damned thing about it.

So he pulled his phone from his pocket and did the only thing he could think of.

x

The sound of his phone ringing split through Ianto's unconscious state, sparking painfully behind his eyes and tugging at the weary connections in his brain. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow with him to cover his head. It felt as though a herd of bulls had stampeded through his mind, their horns gouging huge holes in his ability to think.

When he realised, however, that the sound was not going to go away any time soon, he pulled the pillow slowly away from his face and glanced at the source. His phone was vibrating noisily on his bedside table, shaking almost desperately against the wood as it continued to ring with that annoying jingle Jack had attached to it. He reached over, just about managing to remember how to move his arms, and grasped the phone in his hand.

"Hello?"

"Ianto?"

"Jack?"

Within minutes of the brief telephone conversation, Ianto Jones was pulling on his thickest boots and tugging his coat around himself as he prepared to brave the blizzard - which was seemingly having a party just outside his door. There was an awful taste in his mouth, a rancid stickiness that he could feel clinging to his unbrushed teeth, so he quickly dove into his pocket, digging out a mint and flinging it into his mouth. Jack wasn't observant enough to know the difference, and the searing flavour of the spearmint was enough to send a few more wakeful jolts shooting through Ianto's brain. As the sweet cracked against his tongue, he pulled on his gloves and forced his way out into the dreary Cardiff weather.

When he arrived in Cathays, his gun nestling inside the pocket of his suit jacket, the first thing he did was draw the torch from the glove pocket of the car. Even though it was the middle of the day, the snowy clouds had rather taken the shine away from the Christmas sun; it was as if a dark shadow had cast itself over Cardiff. He slipped from the car and shut the door quietly behind him, shivering slightly in the cold as he angled the beam of light ahead of him to search the thickening snow.

"Jack?"

"_Ianto…_"

The call was faint, the syllables lifted away from him by the force of the wind, but Ianto could hear the unmistakeable lilt of the accent. He moved towards the sound, his feet crunching in the snow and his vision blurring slightly as wet flakes settled on his eyelashes. Twice more he called out and waited for an answer, using both the torch beam and the sound of Jack's voice to lead him to the stricken form of his boss.

Upon reaching the bloodied heap in the snow, he quickly tucked the torch into his pocket and drew out the roll of bandage that he'd stuffed in his pocket before leaving the house. He sensed, rather than saw, Jack's grimace as he moved towards the injury.

"I'm loving the reassuring tone of your voice, right now," Jack's sarcastic tone cut through the snow, forcing a smile onto Ianto's face as he applied the bandage to his tattered leg.

"Well, sir," he grinned as he tugged on Jack's leg to pull the bone back into place, the slightly macabre part of him enjoying it as a muffled '_oi!_' filled the air. "If you will get yourself into these situations and then contrive to drag me out of bed, you really shouldn't expect me to be nice."

He quickly tied off the bandage, finishing the dressing of Jack's wound as best as he could before rising to his feet and holding out a hand for the older man to take. Jack complied quickly, grimacing quietly as he let himself be hauled upwards to rest his weight on Ianto's shoulder.

"Ouch."

Ianto smiled softly and hooked an around Jack's waist, supporting the injured man with as much strength as he could summon into his shivering limbs. The injured leg was still hanging limply, despite the dressing, each gust of wind threatening to pull it from its fragile moorings. Ianto glanced around, looking worriedly for the Torchwood car.

"Jack," he took a step forward, letting Jack get used to the change in position before taking another. "Where've you parked the car? We need to get you back, because, sorry, but if that leg falls off then you are screwed."

"Screwed?" Jack grinned, air hissing through his teeth as his leg knocked uncomfortably against his left knee. "That a technical term, then?"

"Don't ask me, I just make the place look pretty," Ianto licked his lips, scanning the horizon for the elusive black figure of the car. "You sure you didn't fly here?"

Jack raised the hand that wasn't hooked around Ianto's back, pointing at a vague shape emerging from the snow. The Welshman squinted, blinking a few times to flick the snowflakes away from his eyes, before he could begin to make out the familiar bulk of the SUV as it neared them.

"Ah."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Ianto felt Jack pout against his neck as they reached the car, the warmth of his breath tickling the hairs at his nape. "Oh, and for the record, you do so much more than just make the place look pretty."

Ianto plucked the key from his pocket and opened the door in one swift, practised movement.

"Thanks."

"You make it look gorgeous."

Ianto all but threw Jack into the passenger seat in response, luxuriating in the yelp that fell from the older man's lips as he landed heavily on the stiff seat. As Ianto rounded the car and clambered into the front seat, Jack readjusted himself into a more comfortable position and fixed him with glare that seemed to singe the hair on his head.

"What was that for?"

The key clicked in the ignition, the whole car roaring into life as Ianto turned to Jack and shrugged nonchalantly. Jack's eyebrows knitted together into a frown as Ianto released the handbrake and backed up carefully. He crossed his arms over his chest and shivered as the cold flakes clung to his skin, laying back into his seat and stretching out his injured leg as far as was humanly possible.

"I could re-evaluate your job description if you'd like," he tried suddenly, turning back to face the young man beside him. "You're also very good at rescuing your poor, helpless boss. Especially when he's poor and helpless and needs rescuing."

Ianto seemed to consider for a few moments, his eyes still focused on the road as his chin tipped slightly in contemplation.

"That sounds fair," he nodded minutely, one eye flicking suddenly to Jack as the older man relaxed back into his seat. "You could also chip in for a new car. That would be very much appreciated."

"What?" Jack's head snapped around. "You can come back and get it whenever you want. I could give you a lift once this leg is healed."

"This place is crawling with students. I'm never seeing that car again."

"You have so little faith in humanity, Ianto," Jack tightened his hold on his own torso, wriggling further down into his seat as if trying to absorb every ounce of warmth from the tough leather. "There _are_ good people out there. You shouldn't always presume the worst. Trust me. In fact, there was this one time, when I was with the Time Agency; I left my spaceship in a town that was full of…"

"Chicken?"

Jack blinked.

"What?"

"We could get some chicken," Ianto tightened one hand on the steering wheel whilst the other gestured out of the sodden window. "I know a place down Salisbury Road; the owner's a strict Muslim, so keeps the place open through Christmas Day. I'm presuming you haven't eaten for a while and you'll have to get some energy in you if you want your leg to heal. Also, I haven't eaten anything since yesterday evening and rescuing you is hard work. So, all things considered in a logical manner, I thought we'd stop off on the way back to the Hub and get ourselves a bucket of fried chicken."

Jack contemplated the suggestion for a few seconds; his eyes fixed on Ianto's face as the young man's focused remained transfixed on the road in front of him. He knew that it made sense, as Ianto's suggestions usually did – he had long ago learned that whilst the Welshman was quiet, he very rarely said anything that wasn't worth listening to – but there was something playing on his mind. A very large, overwhelming thought that stopped his rumbling stomach from giving into Ianto's logic.

"Ianto, what about your sister?"

"Hmm?" Ianto swallowed softly through his nonchalance, the motion not lost to Jack's searching gaze.

"I gave you day off to spend Christmas with her. I'm not going to let you lock yourself up in the Hub on Christmas Day instead of being with your family," Jack's eyes narrowed as they knitted together to form his best 'concerned boss' frown. "If it comes down to it, I'll order you to go back. But I'm hoping it doesn't have to come to that."

The grey-blue eyes of the Welshman were focused almost entirely on the road in front of him, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and a slight redness creeping onto the cold blush of his cheeks.

"There was a change of plan," he declared suddenly, his voice strong and certain despite the veins popping from the backs of his hands. "My sister won a holiday for four; a Christmas special on the local radio. She left yesterday. So there's no problem."

His eyes flicked towards Jack, a pleading look peeking out from somewhere in his irises; it was a look which did not fail to strike a chord within the older man. That almost-hidden emotion was something he knew all too well. It was the timeless plea for company, a look which he would have seen reflected in his own face only a short while ago. He tightened his jaw and bit his tongue, holding back the torrent of disbelief and questions that were forming in his throat. He could sense there was more to this, despite Ianto's well-practised attempts at hiding it; but he also knew that Ianto was not forthcoming when it came to interrogation. If Jack wanted to find out anything at all, he was going have to go down the more natural route.

So Jack swallowed back his curiosity and nodded softly.

"Fried chicken it is then."

x

Jack sank thankfully into the scratchy fabric of the old Hub sofa, the familiarity of the rickety furniture seeming to drill comforting warmth right down into his bones. His injured leg was propped up on a chair in front of him, stretched out to allow the bone to knit itself back together. He grimaced slightly as he flexed the muscle, watching as the movement failed to travel beyond the bandaged portion of his leg.

He heard a shuffling from somewhere in the depth of Hub and flicked his eyes towards it, craning his head to try and search out the source of the noise. There was a clatter – which somehow managed to be an organised and sophisticated clatter – from the general direction of his office, followed by the crumpled figure of Ianto swinging himself up from Jack's quarters with a duvet slung over his shoulder.

"You see now why I have problems with snow?" he smiled slightly, cocking an eyebrow as he strode briskly across the Hub to wrap the material around Jack's shivering shoulders. Jack grasped at the corners, drawing it further around himself to try and ward off the cold that still clung like limpets to his skin.

"I could be persuaded to come 'round to your way of thinking," he grinned through his chattering teeth. "That is, if you can think of a good way of persuading me."

Ianto ignored the leer that spread across the older man's face, turning on his heel to grasp the bucket of fried chicken from where they had abandoned it on a nearby desk.

"You're injured," he remarked coolly, his eyes closing minutely as the warmth of the bucket seeped through into the skin of his fingers.

Jack shrugged.

"You're adaptable."

"I don't want to risk it."

"Come on. You've never slept with a one legged man before."

"I've never wanted to."

Ianto sank down beside Jack, the bucket tucked snugly between his legs as he rested his head against the crotchety edge of the sofa. Jack smiled and shuffled closer, his arm knocking against Ianto's and encouraging him to raise his gaze.

"It'd warm me up."

"Just eat the chicken Jack…_this _chicken…" he quickly caught himself and pointed to the bucket. Jack's grin widened and his eyes lowered, prompting the younger man to hastily pluck the container from between his legs, shuffle to the side and wedge it down in between them. Jack managed to catch the laugh before it bubbled up from his chest, instead raising an eyebrow and letting a look of mock disappointment cloud his features.

"You're no fun. No fun at all."

Ianto opened his mouth to respond, his eyebrows knitting together to form a frown as he prepared himself to argue back against the accusations. But he closed it again as he took note of the spark shining through Jack's façade, a small smile creeping onto his face as he watched Jack remove the bucket from between them and shuffle closer.

"You're warm," Jack smiled, balancing the bucket on his intact knee and offering a chicken leg to the young man beside him. "I'll have to make do."

"Glad to be of service," the corner of Ianto's mouth quirked upwards, an expression which was as close to a grin as Jack knew he was ever going to get. Once upon a godforsaken time – before Gray, before the Master, before the cannibals in the Beacons - he had made a promise to himself: one day, he vowed, he would make the young face beside him break out into a grin. He would somehow make him smile with an unreserved and unashamed happiness, if only for a few short seconds in his already short life. But now, as he watched that tiny quirk disappear amongst a mouthful of steaming fried chicken, he knew that this was as close as he was ever going to get. And he was, he found with surprise, quite happy with that.

They ate in companionable silence for a short while, the slow chewing of cooked meat and the gentle throbbing of the Rift Manipulator the only sounds that permeated the vast space. Ianto had kicked a bin over to the sofa before going to get Jack's duvet from his room, and every so often a clang pierced the air as a gnawed chicken bone was slung into the metal recesses.

By all rights the silence which hung over them should have been awkward but, somehow, Jack mused, it never descended past the realms of comfort and reassurance. The awkwardness seemed to come whenever they tried to talk; in fairness, the quietness that filled the air was really no different to the normal banter that would reverberate between them. It wasn't really any different to all those times when they would share quick exchanges; teasing words and sarcastic looks flicking rapidly between – talking all the time, but never really saying anything.

The silence spoke louder than the words. Ianto revealed more in his posture, his eyes and his movements that he ever did with his words, and Jack had long ago learnt that he was much the same. It was a similar desire to be hidden that brought them together and yet, simultaneously, kept a wide gulf between them. He watched as Ianto ate, his shirt ruffled and poking out from beneath his belt; his hair was still standing up slightly at the edges, providing evidence for the fact that Ianto had dragged himself out of bed and done nothing more throw on a few clothes before coming to his rescue.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he realised just how much he enjoyed being first on Ianto's list of priorities. But it was also pervaded by a deep sense of regret, a sadness that it had come to that point at all. It shouldn't be that way – he was so young, with so much potential thrumming through every single inch of his body. Torchwood, Jack, aliens…it should be his job, not his life.

"Jack."

The sound of deep Welsh vowels shattered Jack's reverie.

"Hmm?"

"You're staring at me."

"Am I?"

"Yes," Ianto chewed pointedly on the last remnants of chicken before flinging the bone into the bin. "It's very distracting."

Jack bowed his head in an appropriately apologetic manner.

"Sorry," he picked thoughtfully at the chicken still left in the bucket, the grease clinging to his fingers and making them slide against one another. Absent-mindedly, he tried to pinch his fingers together, noting the way in which the pads of the digits refused to meet without slipping away to the side.

Never quite coming together. Slippery and evasive.

"Not the only ones then," he muttered drily to himself, the words thrumming through the silence.

Ianto stopped wiping his hands on the napkin and turned to face him.

"What?"

"Nothing," clenching his fingers around the bucket firmly, Jack pulled it from his lap and moved it decisively to the floor. Then he turned to lock eyes with the young man beside him.

"Why are you here, Ianto?"

The Welshman swallowed hard, a gesture which would have been innocent if Jack hadn't known there was no food in his mouth.

"I don't know what you…"

"Why this?" Jack leant forward, licking his lips and gesturing around them. "Why are you sitting in the cold and eating fried chicken when you could be elsewhere? It's hardly a Christmas feast is it? And I'm hardly ideal company. So why choose this?"

"I told you," the grey-blue eyes were fixed towards the floor and glazed, the words low and emotionless as they fell from Ianto's lips. "My sister's not here. She won…"

"…a competition. You already said. And I don't believe you."

"Jack…"

"No more secrets, Ianto. I thought that was a promise."

A tongue snaked out to swipe along Ianto's dry lips, guilt shining in his eyes as his shoulders went up to form a defensive barrier. Jack immediately regretted the words, his hand coming up to rest lightly on the young man's shoulder; as if trying to brush away the memories of secrets that had almost destroyed them in the past.

"I'm sorry. That was out of line."

"No, it wasn't," Ianto raised his eyes, glancing at Jack and smiling sadly. "I paid for it. The holiday, I mean. Turned up on her doorstep a few weeks ago - four plane tickets and a booking in a Majorcan hotel."

Jack raised a questioning eyebrow.

"And she let you?"

"She wasn't happy. But I told her it was non-refundable, and it's not like she can afford it otherwise. Anyway, I'm her little brother – I can wrap her around my little finger. She just doesn't realise it."

A sigh escaped Jack's lips, the blanket slipping down his shoulders as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were so excited about letting us have Christmas off. And, contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually _that _cruel."

Jack dropped his arm and flopped back onto the seat, nudging Ianto pointedly with his elbow.

"Still, you should have told me."

"You never asked."

"That's because you should have told me."

"How could I tell you if you never asked? It's not something that comes up in conversation: _hey, Ianto,_" he put on a perfect imitation of Jack's accent, the vowels of his name rolling from the American twang. "_you booked any secret holidays for your sister lately?_"

"You…" Jack opened his mouth and closed it, mouth bobbing like a fish for a few seconds before a grin split it in two. "Fine. You win."

"I always do," Ianto mirrored the grin in his own, quirked way. "Anyway, it's for the best. The kids don't have much to look forward to, and it was an easy way of protection – get rid of the one excuse they have to see me. It's necessary, Jack. You've seen the danger that they'd be in if they got too involved in my life. I can't do that."

"But it's Christmas," Jack all but whispered, his arm stretching out along the back of the sofa so that his fingers brushed, in a way that could have been perceived as accidental, across Ianto's back. "You can't…"

"I did," Ianto cast a quick glance behind him, eyes fixing momentarily on the brief contact between them before turning back and hauling himself up. Reaching down, he took a firm hold of the bin and the empty bucket, swivelling on his heel towards the tiny kitchenette. Jack began to rise, only for the sharp pain in his healing leg to force him back down with a grunt.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jack could almost hear the smirk in Ianto's voice as he ran his hands under the tap, and he stuck out a retaliatory tongue at the Welshman's back. Ianto turned at that moment, catching him as he quickly slid his tongue back between his lips. A chuckle bubbled in his chest.

"Your maturity levels continue to astound me, sir," he dried his hands on a nearby towel. "Does regressing come with extreme age?"

Jack let out a snarl, hiding the happy flip that took over his chest as the laugh lit up Ianto's face. He didn't laugh very often. Jack absolutely loved it when he laughed; the smallest of chuckles, when falling from Ianto's lips, seemed to make the dark world that tiniest little bit brighter.

"Less of the age talk, you brat," he hissed, winking discreetly. "I can be as immature as I like. I'm the boss."

"I'm aware. I found your collection of Disney DVDs, remember? Slightly warped when we consider the video collection I found it next to…"

"I lack storage space."

"I'm not rising to _that _bait."

A mock-growl forced its way from Jack's chest as Ianto raised an innocent eyebrow.

"You don't usually complain about my _storage space_."

"That's because I was raised to be polite first and honest second."

Jack narrowed his eyes and ground his teeth for a few seconds (to add to the effect, of course), before reaching behind him and cupping the back of his head in his hands. He listened to Ianto bustling about in the kitchen, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the noise of simply _living_ that each clang and clatter seemed to represent. The banter was something he'd missed during the long months of it being just the three of them; the easy, teasing words that were batted back and forth without concern or fear. It might be ultimately meaningless, but it was so comfortable for them both.

"Ianto?" he called suddenly, raising his head from the pillow of his hands. The familiar face poked around from the coffee machine, the busy noises ceasing as Ianto stilled his hands and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"There's a bottle," Jack gestured wildly in the general direction of the fridge. "In the fridge. Tosh bought it for Owen before he…" he stopped for a second, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat every time those names found their way into his brain. He saw Ianto glance down at his silence, his heel scuffing uncomfortably against the floor as he waited for the sudden sadness to lift. Jack took one look at the despondent look in his eyes and hardened his heart, determined to maintain the happy spirit that had momentarily taken over the Hub.

He cleared his throat.

"It's only cheap stuff," Ianto looked up as Jack's voice filled the silence. "But I thought we could open it. Drag a computer over and stick something on the television."

Ianto raised an eyebrow again, the side of his mouth lifting along with it to give his face a questioning, lop-sided look.

"What kind of _something_?" he enquired innocently, nevertheless complying with Jack's suggestion; pulling open the fridge and bending over to rummage through until his fingers emerged clasping a bottle of red wine.

Jack rolled his eyes, his bottom lip jutting out towards the infuriatingly innocent looking Welshman.

"I am appalled that you would suggest that I…" his gaze dropped suddenly as he watched those long fingers twisting determinedly around the top of the bottle.

"Appalled that I would suggest what?" the eyebrow managed to raise itself even further.

"Oh…er…never mind," Jack swallowed, smiling as Ianto handed him a plastic wine glass – plastic, as they never knew who could take over the Hub and use it as a weapon – and sat down triumphantly beside him. "I just thought it would be nice to watch something Christmassy. It's been a while since I did anything Christmassy. And seeing as you're here, I thought that…maybe…"

"It's okay," the younger man smiled at him, passing him his own glass before pulling himself back to his feet. "You pour me a glass and I'll go fetch a couple of films."

x

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I've had bad experiences."

"Ridiculous."

"I'm _not_."

"You really are."

"I've seen things you wouldn't imagine."

"Jack, it's the bloody _Muppets_."

"Yeah," Jack frowned, taking another sip of his third - or was it fourth? - glass of wine. "Look at them, though. That curly-nosed one…y'know…."

He gestured wildly with his hand in front of his face. Ianto smiled wryly, propping himself on one arm against the back of the sofa so that he could look sardonically into Jack's eyes.

"That would be Gonzo."

"Yeah, him. There's this planet in the Salura Constellation where all the prostitutes have…"

"I can't wait to hear this."

"Shut up! I wasn't expecting it, okay? I went to the brothel, innocent as I was in my youth, and then she unfurled this great big _nose_. I was scarred for life."

Ianto smiled and leant back in the chair, the remote twirling between his slightly less coordinated fingers.

"Are you going to tell me that's where all your problems stem from?"

Jack stuck his tongue out.

"What are you, a psychiatrist?"

"Just call me Freud."

"Alright then, Freud," Jack grinned, pulling up one leg and clasping it next to his chest. "Analyse."

"Okay," Ianto set his glass down beside him and tapped his forehead with his index finger. "Your problems…they come from your encounter with a curly nosed prostitute. That and a bastard ex who still manages to be infuriatingly attractive…"

"I can't believe you can still say these long words in your state."

"I'm not drunk. You're just a lightweight."

"If you don't shut up, I'll fire you."

"No you won't."

"Try me."

"I'm too pretty."

"You…" Jack thought for a few seconds, before raising his glass in a silent congratulation. "You've got me, there. Okay then, Freud, carry on. Analyse you. What makes Ianto Jones tick?"

"I…" the young man stopped suddenly, his mouth slamming shut as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes seemed to glaze over, his knees drawing up to his chest as he hugged them subconsciously. Jack watched him worriedly for a few seconds as he stared into the distance, his hand tightening around the glass between his fingers and his tongue coming out to dab awkwardly at his lip.

After a few awkward moments Jack leant forward, nudging his foot reassuringly against Ianto's ankle; rubbing their feet together in a way that seemed far more intimate than anything they'd ever done in the bedroom.

"Shall we put something else on then?"

Ianto jumped, snapping out of his reverie.

"Sorry?"

"We could see what's the on the telly," Jack kept up his movement on Ianto's ankle. "It's Christmas Day, there's got to be something on. We can do the whole Christmas thing properly."

A thankful smile spread across Ianto's face, his eyes glancing downwards to take in the sight of Jack's foot rubbing gently against his own. He moved his leg softly, reciprocating the surprisingly tender – and possibly quite drunk – movement for a few moments before meeting his gaze.

"That sounds brilliant. There couldn't possibly be any threatening to see there."

x

"Now who's ridiculous?"

"Be quiet."

Ianto's grip was so tight around his glass that Jack had to step in, easing the half-full plastic cup from his shaking fingers and setting it down onto the floor.

"You okay?"

The young man let out a sigh, his eyes closing for a minute as his finger remained frozen on the 'stop' button of the remote.

"I think so."

His eyes opened again, the remote falling onto his lap as he relaxed his grip. A grin spread across Jack's face, a chuckle bubbling away in his chest despite the glare that Ianto levelled at him.

"What?" the remote hit him in the chest with a force that winded him. "Swings and roundabouts."

"No. Not swings and bloody roundabouts. You were scared of _Gonzo_, Jack."

"But…"

"The Child Catcher is _actually_ scary," Ianto crossed his arms, a slight crimson blush painting across his cheeks as the wine drilled into his system. "I haven't seen this film since I was nine years old. Used to terrify me. I wouldn't have watched it if I'd have known it was still a bloody horror story. But still - I blame you."

Jack choked on a mouthful of wine.

"What?"

"You got me thinking about noses and things."

There was a beat as Jack processed Ianto's logic - or lack of it. His mouth opened and closed a few times, eyes blinking confusedly until he shook his head, lifting a finger from his glass to point at the young man worriedly.

"I swear you don't make any sense."

Ianto giggled – it took a few seconds for that rare sound to process in Jack's mind – and took another sip from his glass.

"That's because you got me drunk."

"So it's my fault?"

"Yup."

Jack took a few more seconds of thought, taking the opportunity to drain the remaining liquid in his cup before shrugging dejectedly.

"Your logic is…" he took a moment to sort out the _long_ words in his head, his eyebrows knitting together as the last few droplets hit him at full force. "Your logic is…is…ineffable."

Ianto frowned.

"Is that the right word?"

"I have no idea."

There was another moment as Ianto tapped the glass against his chin thoughtfully.

"Does it mean I'm right?"

"I think so."

"Okay," Ianto leaned back and smiled, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm always right."

x

They couldn't really tell that night was drawing in. Jack would usually dim the lights as the evening crawled ever closer; his dedication to keeping the atmosphere of the Hub as far away from an underground base was something that had never left him, and his daily rituals remained unbroken after all these years. Tonight, however; as he lay back on the couch with the warmth of an ever-so-slightly intoxicated Welshman emanating towards him; he really didn't feel any inclination to get up and start fiddling with the lights.

Silence had descended once again upon the two men as they sat together, their drunken, playful banter discarded in favour of just leaning against one another on the scratchy old sofa. The computer had been switched off, the pile of DVD's and the remote abandoned on the arm of the couch; the empty bottle of wine rolled quietly between their legs, slowly ricocheting from their feet as it moved along the uneven service of the Hub. The only sound was the sound of Ianto's gentle breathing; a sound that Jack had missed, with a surprising sharpness, during the first half of what had actually turned out to be not-too-bad-a-Christmas.

Jack closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of Ianto's body as it pressed against his shoulder and breathing in deeply.

"Ianto," he said suddenly, feeling Ianto's eyelashes flutter against his neck as the young man opened his eyes. "What was it like when you were a kid?"

He felt the face morph into a frown against his nape.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Christmas," Jack smiled against Ianto's hair as the gently accented vowels merged drunkenly together. "We never had Christmas back in Boeshane. Sure, it was something we learnt about, but by the time I was born it had completely died out as a tradition. I've seen a lot of Christmases in my time, but I always wanted to know what it was like to be a kid at Christmas. It's the one thing I could never experience."

Ianto lifted his head from Jack's shoulder so he could look him in the eye. His pupils flicked searchingly across Jack's face, his elbow propped up so that he could rest his chin on his palm.

Eventually, a small smile crept onto his face, a tiny action which let a trickle of relief leak into Jack's heart. The young man leant back, his neck craning against the edge of the sofa as his eyes seemed to scan the ceiling nostalgically.

"Rhiannon would always get me up early," the side of his mouth quirked as he spoke. "Not that she had to – I was always awake anyway – but I think she just enjoyed shouting at me to get out of bed."

Jack laughed quietly.

"You picked up more traits than you think."

He continued to laugh as Ianto elbowed him in the ribs, the sound being forced from his chest in a _huff_.

"I _don't _shout. I just talk loudly and with authority. _You _shout. Anyway," he coughed, twisting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "She'd always save up during the year to buy me a few presents – usually it was chocolate, but sometimes she'd managed to get me some toys. I always gave her something, but it was usually something I managed to swap with the kids from around the block. Wasn't much, but it was exciting every time. Looking back, I never realised how much effort she put in to make it good."

Jack watched as the film of memory seemed to ghost over the blue-grey of Ianto's eyes; his hand snaked out automatically, inching around without hesitation to rest gently on Ianto's shoulder. The young man turned to face him, his eyes fixing on the calloused fingers before flicking upwards to settle on Jack's matching blue orbs. The tiny smile that had settled on his face widened slightly, his hand coming up to rest ever so lightly on top of Jack's.

"I used to love it. She'd cook me chicken nuggets and chips. We'd tell each other that the chips were roast potatoes, the nuggets were the finest turkey breast money could buy and the tomato ketchup was fresh cranberry sauce. We had so much fun just pretending for a few hours. More fun than you could imagine, considering what we actually had on the plate."

"I can imagine," Jack smiled again, his thumb roving across the crumpled material of Ianto's shirt. "Trust me."

"I used to think it was completely normal till I started school," Ianto's eyebrows creased slightly, his hand tightening on Jack's fingers. "And even then, she just told me that we were special. You wouldn't believe how long I actually believed that. Then, one night, my Dad decided to come back from the pub before Rhi could get me into bed…we stopped really doing Christmas after that."

He swallowed suddenly, shuffling backwards and dropping his head to his chest.

"Sorry. You didn't want to hear that," a blush crept onto his cheeks, shame descending over his face as he focused his gaze on the floor. Jack remained silent. He knew that Ianto would be deeply embarrassed that the alcohol had managed to loosen his tongue to that extent. With any luck he would forget this conversation tomorrow; but, knowing Ianto as he did, he was pretty certain that he would remember it word for word.

Inspiration suddenly hit him and he bolted from the sofa, leaving Ianto to watch him curiously as he stumbled over to the desk (his newly healed leg springing beneath him as he went) and tapped a few words onto the computer. There was a slight click, which echoed ominously through the Hub, before a string of recognisable chords reverberated through the Victorian space.

Jack turned back, smiling as Ianto raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me that that's _Fairytale of New York_."

"It's a classic," Jack took a step forward and held out a hand. "Come on. It's Christmas."

Ianto stared at the hand accusingly.

"I don't think I can stand up."

Jack ignored him, reaching forward to grasp his hand and haul him to his feet. Ianto tottered slightly back as Jack held onto him, steadying his weight against his slightly bulkier torso.

"Jack…"

"I owe you a dance. I was slightly distracted at Gwen's wedding…"

Ianto snorted.

"That might just be a contender for Understatement Of The Century."

"…so when better to make up for lost opportunities than at Christmas?"

He grasped Ianto's hand, pulling it flat against his chest and nudging his legs apart with his knee. Ianto stumbled as Shane McGowan's trademark growl punctured the air, his fingers gripping onto Jack's shirt as he almost took him down with him.

"Shit."

"No swearing," Jack let go of Ianto's waist and wagged his finger authoritatively. "Your mouth is far too pretty to be so dirty."

"And you'd know all about dirty mouths, wouldn't you?"

Jack grinned and pulled him closer.

"Call me a connoisseur. Speaking of dirty mouths…" his smile widened – stretching to a grin which seemed impossibly wide – and he pointed upwards. "Mistletoe. You know what that means."

Ianto glanced up, following Jack's pointed finger, and a frown creased his features.

"But there isn't any…"

Jack cut him off before he could finish his sentence, silencing him by pressing their lips together messily. The sound of Kirsty MacColl's lyric split the air, shimmering around the vast, cavernous space of the Hub as the two men kissed. Their bodies were melded together so closely that it was difficult to discern between them, their entwined frames swaying rhythmically to the familiar tune.

It wasn't particularly romantic - their brains were fogged with the wine and their fingers grasped soundly at each other's clothing – but they were content to feed from one another's warmth.

Eventually they broke apart, each one gulping in a lungful of oxygen. Jack lifted his hand, cupping Ianto's cheek and brushing a thumb across his reddened lips.

"You need a shave."

Ianto swatted his hand away, the movement sending him wobbling off balance as Jack hurried to catch him.

"You got me up," he muttered as he righted himself, his hands planted on Jack's shoulders. "I didn't have time to."

He tried to move again, his feet trembling beneath him with the weight of alcohol on his brain. A sigh flew from his lips as he gave up, slumping forward to rest his weight on Jack's chest.

"I can't."

Jack pulled away from him, fighting through his own drunken fuzziness to look Ianto square in the eye.

"Au contraire," he whispered, pulling the young man against him so that the words swirled into the shell of his ear. "If there's one thing I've learnt about you, Ianto Jones, it's that you can anything you want to. Anything at all. All you have to is put your mind to it."

He moved back and rested his forehead against Ianto's, curling an arm around his waist and pulling their hands to his chest.

"Now…plant your feet firmly on the floor," he felt the young man shifting against him, fighting to gain his balance as he followed Jack's instructions. "And just let yourself go with the music. Just follow the music."

As the familiar tune filled the Hub, Ianto and Jack clung to one another and moved with the rhythm. Their feet brushed against one another, their foreheads rested together as they merged together in the dance. That was something Jack had always loved about dancing; the togetherness, the way you became one person swimming in the sea of the music.

Even if it was uncoordinated and slightly wobbly, Jack knew that there was no other way he would wish to end his Christmas. He glanced up, squinting slightly as the clock in his office began to toll dully – each faint sound taking them one second closer towards midnight.

One second closer to the end of what had been, Jack realised with surprise, the perfect Christmas. Perhaps not perfect in the traditional sense, but Jack knew in his heart that he would not have wished to spend it any other way.

So, before the twelfth beat chimed out into the air of the Hub, he leant forward and brushed his lips against Ianto's ear.

"Merry Christmas, Ianto."

He expected a sharp reply. Perhaps, he mused, he expected the sharp twang of Ianto's trademark sarcasm, admonishing him for being so sickeningly sentimental.

But, instead, he felt Ianto's face contort into a grin against his neck.

_Nadolig Llawen, Jack._

x

Fin

x

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading. _

_I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. Any comments you have would be a greatly appreciated addition to my now-empty Christmas stocking!  
_


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